


Grounded

by LizzardLady



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Gen, One Shot, Prompt Fic, Short One Shot, lucifer is lost af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 03:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18792343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzardLady/pseuds/LizzardLady
Summary: Lucifer finds himself hurt and stranded in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but the stars and his newly returned wings to keep him company.Set during Season 2 Episode 1.





	Grounded

Rain beat against parched earth, creating a steady rhythm in the hushed darkness. Parched animals scurried about, desperate to drink the water while they could; the sound of their paws pitter-pattering chorused with the downfall. Strained groaning permeated the air, sourcing from a pathetic cluster of bushes sat in the middle of the dampening desert. Shrews and lizards scattered from the brush, fleeing from the unfamiliar sound, leaving the owner of the voice completely and utterly alone. Oh, he was so, so far away from civilization.

Placed in the flora was Lucifer—the _archangel _Lucifer—reduced to a heap of cuts and gashes, dumped in a wasteland and left to suffer. How he'd gotten himself into this situation was a mystery to him; last he knew, he was about to head back to Lux, and now he'd woken up here. Injured and incapacitated. Normally, he was immune to things like this; immune to the foolish plans humans thought up to kidnap someone. Unfortunately, he'd been in proximity of the Detective. She'd really be his end, one day, but he hardly cared about that.__

__With effort, Lucifer pushed himself up to a sitting position, wincing as drops of rain hit his face. He took a check of his body—which brought him to the conclusion that everything bloody hurts—noticing something odd and absolutely preposterous._ _

__Extending around twelve feet on each side of him was a pair of wings— _his_ wings, the ones he'd had Maze cut off for him. Just like he remembered, they were snow white and pristine, resonating faintly with the light of a divine being. They were such a beautiful thing to look at, especially compared to his rough state, but he thought just the opposite. In his mind, they were _terrible_ , ugly and cursed, cruel reminders that he was God's plaything. Symbols of how easily Dear Old Dad could snap his fingers to tear his life apart, if he wanted to. Frustrated, Lucifer forced them away, folding them into their own pocket of non-existence so he could focus more on where the Hell he was._ _

__The bringer of light got to his feet, swaying forward as his throbbing head made sense of his movement. Pain shot through his left leg as he put pressure on it, and he just about collapsed from the sting. He took an experimental step forward, teeth grinding as another wave of agony zapped up his muscles. Getting anywhere feeling like this would be nearly impossible unless he used his wings—which, he wouldn't do, not _ever_. That would be giving into his dad's authority over him, and he was set to rebel at all costs. And so, he stumbled along, taking one slow, painstaking step at a time. It was frustrating beyond belief to be in this state for the first time since his fall to Hell._ _

__Whoever had done this either knew about his flaw in immortality or got really, _really_ lucky. He figured it was the former; not many people got lucky with the Devil. His laboured breaths floated about the cool air of the night as he crawled his way across the wilderness, tendons aching with the ongoing toil of the trek. Every so often he was forced to stop, the flares of discomfort (to put it lightly) soaking to his bones. His perpetrator must have wanted him out of commission, for whatever reason, and they were getting their wish._ _

__At some point, Lucifer had come upon a group of mountains, towering tall and proud to his right. In the distance, he could see what looked like an opening in the rocks; a cave, perhaps. Shelter from . . . well, anything, really, when he was this weak. He forced himself to continue, teeth grinding against teeth as he fought against the torment coursing through his veins. Upon getting nearer to the suspected entrance, he could confirm that it was, indeed, a place to recuperate._ _

__As far as he could tell, it didn't go that far or that deep, more like a nick in the monstrous mountain than an actual system of twists and turns. It would do, though; he couldn't deny that, and so he limped inside. The interior was far colder than the outside, was what he noticed first, but at least it provided a place for him to hide away until he could get his bearings and heal a bit. He didn't flinch as a group of bats flew past him, narrowly avoiding his head and taking off into the drizzling night._ _

__Settling himself down against a boulder, he let his gaze drift to the view of the landscape, focusing on the twilit sky. Billions of stars scattered across a midnight canvas, forming constellations and galaxies alike. Lucifer couldn't help but smile, even if it was a wobbly, frail one. He had created those stars, each and every one of them, till the night was lit up and twinkling. Him, Lucifer, the Lightbringer, had done that. Not Amenadiel, not Michael, or Uriel, or Azrael, and certainly not God. Sure, he might be hurt and stranded in the middle of nowhere, but at least he had the stars to keep him company._ _

__Thoughts flit around his conscience like flies, irking him as they blocked his view of his creations. He couldn't help but think of the Detective and the others; were they worried about him? Was _she_ worried about him? Did they even realize he was gone? As far as they were concerned, he was off having a good time with a lucky entourage of women, or getting hammered and high amongst the crowds of Lux. His reputation could be the death of him, if they didn't even think for a moment that something was off about his absence._ _

__Lucifer heaved a hefty sigh, letting himself slip lower to the ground until he was lying on his side. His arms would have to do as a pillow for now, as uncomfortable as they were. It was better than nothing but the pebbles and dust littering the floor of his shelter. He curled up, his eyes fluttering shut as he succumbed to the sweet escape that was—hopefully—dreaming. While it was such a cold, terrible place to sleep, it was better than being out in the open, and at least he'd have time to lick his wounds this way. The more sleep he got, the better and faster his celestial gashes would heal. And so, with one last thought of a warm place to lay and delicious food to eat, he let himself slip into unconsciousness._ _


End file.
